Tess Gerritsen - Ice Cold

“I’m going back to the valley. That’s where they’ll look for me.”

“You’ll get lost before you get there.”

“I have to find my friends.”

“In the dark?”

She glanced around at trees and darkness. “Where the hell am I?” she blurted in frustration.

“Safe, ma’am.”

She faced him. Steadier now, she moved toward him, reminding herself that this was just a boy, not a man. It made him seem less threatening. “Who are you?” she asked.

The boy was silent.

“You won’t even tell me your name.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“What are you doing out here by yourself? Don’t you have a family?”

He took in a breath and it came out in a heavy sigh. “I wish I knew where they were.”

Maura blinked as wind swirled snow into her eyes. She looked up as flakes began to fall, as fine as dust. The snow landed on her face like cold needlepricks. The dog emerged from the hovel and waded across to lick Maura’s bare hand. His tongue left slick trails that cooled and chilled her skin. He seemed to be asking to be petted, and she laid her hand on his thick fur.

“If you want to freeze to death out here,” the boy said, “I can’t stop you. But I’m going in.” He looked at the dog. “Come on, Bear.”

The dog went stock-still. Maura felt the fur on the back of his neck suddenly bristle as every muscle in his body seemed to tense. Turning toward the trees, Bear gave a low growl that sent a chill whispering up Maura’s back.

“Bear?” the boy said.

“What is it?” she asked. “Why’s he doing that?”

“I don’t know.”

They both stared into the night, trying to see what had alarmed the animal. They heard the wind, the rustle of the trees, but nothing else.

The boy began to strap on a pair of snowshoes. “Go inside,” he said. Then he and the dog walked off into the woods.

Maura hesitated only a few heartbeats. Much longer, and she would have been left too far behind to locate them in the dark. Heart thumping, she followed.

At first she could not see them, but she could hear the creak of the snowshoes and the thrashing of the dog through the underbrush. As she moved deeper into the woods, as her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she began to make out more details. The looming trunks of pines. And the two figures moving ahead, the boy striding purposefully, the dog leaping to clear deep snow. Through the trees ahead, she saw something else: a faint glow that was gauzy orange through the falling snowflakes.

She smelled smoke.

Her legs were wobbly from the effort to keep up, but she kept struggling ahead, afraid to be left behind, wandering and lost. The boy and dog seemed tireless and they kept moving, covering what seemed like endless ground as she fell farther behind. But she would not lose them now, because she saw where they were headed. They were all being drawn to that ever-brightening glow.

When at last she caught up, the boy was standing very still, his back turned to her, his gaze focused down on the valley.

Far below them, the village of Kingdom Come was ablaze in flames.

“Oh my God,” whispered Maura. “What happened?”

“They came back. I knew they would.”

She stared down at the twin rows of flames, as orderly and regular as military campfires. This was no accident, she thought. Those flames did not spread from rooftop to rooftop. Someone had deliberately set the houses on fire.

The boy moved to the edge of the cliff, so close to the drop-off that for a panicked moment she thought he was about to leap off. He stared down, hypnotized by the destruction of Kingdom Come. The seductive power of fire trapped her gaze as well. She imagined the flames licking at the walls of the house where she had sheltered, turning all to ash. Snowflakes fell, melting on her cheeks to mingle with her tears. Tears for Doug and Arlo, for Elaine and Grace. Only now, as she watched the fires burn, did she truly believe they were dead.

“Why kill them?” she whispered. “Grace was only thirteen-just a girl. Why?”

“They do whatever he wants.”

“Whatever who wants?”

“Jeremiah. The Prophet.” On the boy’s lips, the name sounded more like a curse than a name.

“The man in the painting,” she said.

“And he shall gather the righteous. And lead them all to hell.” He shoved the fur-trimmed hood off his head, and she could see his profile in the gloom, his jaw squared in anger.

“Whose houses were those?” she asked. “Who lived in Kingdom Come?”

“My mother. My sister.” His voice broke and he lowered his head in mourning for a village that was now engulfed in flames. “The chosen ones.”

WHEN JANE, GABRIEL, AND SANSONE PULLED UP AT THE ACCIDENT site, they found the search team already waiting for them at the side of the road. Jane recognized Sheriff Fahey and Deputy Martineau, as well as that old crank Montgomery Loftus, who owned the land and greeted the new arrivals with a grudging nod. At least this time, he wasn’t brandishing a rifle.

“Did you bring the items?” asked Fahey.

Jane held up a satchel. “We took a number of things out of her house. There are pillowcases and some clothes from her laundry hamper. It should be enough to give them the scent.”

“We can hold on to these?”

“Keep them. As long as it takes to find her.”

“This is the logical place to start.” Fahey handed off the satchel to Deputy Martineau. “If she managed to survive the crash and wandered away, they may be able to pick up her scent down there.”

Jane and Gabriel moved to the edge of the road and looked down at the ravine. The wrecked Suburban was still wedged there, its charred surface now covered with snow. She did not see how anyone could have survived this accident, much less walked away from it. But Maura’s luggage had been in that vehicle, so it was only logical to assume that Maura herself had been riding in the ill-fated SUV when it plunged off the cliff. Jane tried to imagine how that miraculous survival could have happened. Perhaps Maura was thrown from the vehicle early and landed on soft snow, saving her from incineration. Perhaps she’d wandered away from the wreckage, dazed and amnesiac. Jane scanned the rugged terrain and felt little optimism that they would find Maura alive. This was why she had not informed Daniel Brophy about their return to Wyoming. Even had she been able to penetrate the wall of seclusion that now cloaked him, she could offer him no hope of a different outcome, no possibility that this search would change the ultimate answer. If Maura had been in that Suburban, she was now almost certainly dead. And all they were here to do was find the body.

The dogs and searchers began their hike down to the wreckage, pausing every few yards as the dogs sniffed the area, seeking the scent they’d now been primed to follow. Sansone moved down with them, but he stood apart, as though aware the team considered him an outsider. And no wonder they did. He was a man of few smiles, a dark and unapproachable figure to whom past tragedies seemed to cling like a cloak.

“Is that guy another priest?”

Jane turned to see Loftus standing beside her, scowling down at the invaders on his property. “No, he’s just a friend,” she said.

“Deputy Martineau told me you came with a priest last time. And now this fella. Huh,” Loftus grunted. “Interesting friends she had.”

“Maura was an interesting person.”

“So I gather. But we all end up the same way.” He yanked down the brim of his hat, gave them a nod, and started back to his pickup truck, leaving Jane and Gabriel alone at the edge of the road.

“He’s going to take it hard when they find her body,” said Gabriel, staring down at Sansone.